A World Away
by BarneyXII
Summary: Voldemort is dead. The war is over, and Harry Potter has won the fight. But things are never as simple as they seem. There are battles yet to fight and another world that needs saving. He thought it was over, but for Harry, it's only the beginning.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **Can't thank silentclock enough for his help here. Some feedback would be appreciated for this. Got a lot of ideas, so hearing your thoughts would help a great deal. Don't expect an update for a while. I'm still working through the plot and putting things together, but that's why I'd like to hear what you think.

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**Prologue**

A burst of drunken giggling broke the silence of the alleyway. The full moon illuminated the culprit stepping out of the shadows. It was a young woman, and she stumbled while trying to step off the curb. It only made her laugh harder, and she clung to the man's arm for support.

The pair continued across the road. For a few moments, the only sounds that could be heard were the woman's heels clicking out of rhythm with the man's heavier footsteps.

"Is it far to your place?" Katie Bell asked, casting a sideways glance at her companion. Her brunette hair was dishevelled from dancing, and the hint of eyeliner she wore had smudged a little on her otherwise unblemished cheeks.

"It isn't far."

Their words had started to slur. When Katie glanced up at him, Harry also noticed her pupils were dilated. He knew his were the same.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Katie whispered, and suddenly another giggle erupted from her chest. It sounded too loud in the dead of the night. "I never do anything like this!"

Harry gently squeezed her hand and offered her a smile he hoped was comforting, but he couldn't quite force himself to believe her claim of innocence. He couldn't believe she was going with him, either.

When they were younger, Katie had turned him down. She had been the first girl to do so. Like any young man, Harry's ego had been dented. It made this night meaningful to him. It meant more than just a quick fuck.

In simplistic terms, she was Harry Potter's glaring error.

"We would've been there already if you'd just let me apparate us," Harry pointed out, grumbling under his breath. It didn't really matter, but every second spent walking back was another second for Katie to change her mind.

"We can't break the law just like that, Harry!" Katie admonished. Her stern tone would have worked better had she not immediately stumbled yet again afterwards, causing her to break out into even more giggles.

Harry suspected she wasn't quite as drunk as she appeared to be, but didn't particularly care. She _was _drunk enough to go home with him, so he couldn't really complain.

They crossed over a silent main road and took a number of backstreets, before they finally reached Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Its many windows bathed a portion of the street in a dim yellow light, revealing a number of cracks in the pavement.

Katie stopped in her tracks, blinking rapidly as the light shone directly into her face. She surveyed the run-down street with poorly concealed distaste, her eyes falling on the house, before they settled on Harry. "_This _is where you live?"

"Not to your tastes, I take it?"

"No!" Katie gestured wildly to the rest of the street, with its flickering lampposts, dilapidated house, and old, rusted cars. "It's just…"

"It's not aesthetically pleasing, I know," Harry admitted, gently pulling her up the steps. "But this house is a few centuries old, believe it or not."

"I can see that." Katie snorted, eyeing a tabby cat scampering across the cracked tarmac.

"This house belongs to the Black family," Harry elaborated. "They've lived here for years, although thankfully the owner isn't quite as mad as the previous residents."

Katie's lips turned down in a slight frown.

"It doesn't matter, but let's just say the house has belonged to magical folk for a while," Harry said, barely repressing a sigh as they reached the top of the steps.

While he fiddled with a number of unseen locks on the front door, Katie wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her breasts against his back. She stood on tiptoes and rested her chin on his shoulder. Her breath was warm against his ear, and Harry's eyes closed involuntarily, his senses tingling with anticipation.

"Why is there a snake nailed to your front door, Harry?"

Harry paused, his hand still gripped firmly on the doorknob. "It keeps away unwanted guests."

"Wouldn't a charm work better?"

"It's more fun this way," Harry said with a small grin.

It was highly unlikely anyone would ever figure out where the idea came from. Nobody would guess it came from Lord Voldemort's family, the Gaunts. The animated snake worked, though. Muggles often took a second glance at it and usually hurried their children across the road when they saw it rear up, as if to strike them, hissing at them if they got too close.

"It doesn't work as well on Halloween, but that's the only downside," Harry said, frowning.

"Why's that?"

"The kids in the area seem to think it's some sort of test," Harry muttered, mentally wincing as numerous memories came to mind. "You wouldn't believe how many Muggles I've had to Obliviate. At least I know a bit about Muggles from my father, but Sirius doesn't have a bloody clue."

Katie cocked her head to the side and gazed at him in slight confusion. "Why don't you just use a Muggle-Repelling Charm?"

"Like I said, it's more fun this way." Harry blatantly ignored the real reason Sirius had never put the charm on the house. It was difficult to take a Muggle woman home for the night when the house itself prevented them entry. In fact, Harry was fairly sure Sirius had taken down the Muggle-Repelling Charm that had already been on the house.

Katie blinked owlishly in the dim light. "Hang on. I thought your father was a Pureblood. How does he know about Muggles?"

"My mum was a muggleborn, remember. She taught him some of the basic differences." Harry swallowed thickly, aware that he was rambling and unsure why he was. It wasn't like he'd never taken a girl home before. "Anyway, shall we, uh, go up to the drawing room?"

Katie grabbed his fingers and smiled brightly just for him. "Lead the way, Harry."

The Black family décor had changed considerably from when Harry's father had first taken him to visit Sirius. He'd been quite young when Sirius had inherited the house, and hadn't understood why his godfather was throwing a party for the death of a family member. After all, Harry had been brought up to treasure family.

Whereas Walburga Black had left the house in pristine condition, Sirius had deliberately refused to carry on the tradition. He'd never carried on any tradition that his family had ever followed anyway, so it wasn't all that surprising. Every ornate picture had been blasted off the wall, every artefact thrown out with the rubbish – apart from one, but Harry didn't like to think about that – and there wasn't an elf left in the house, dead or alive.

Nowadays, Number Twelve was filled with useless odds and ends, many of them inventions gone wrong. Sirius took great pride in setting up Fred and George Weasley with the money to create a joke shop, and now the creating process for their gadgets and pranks happened in the house. Sirius helped invent, the twins sold to the masses, and they all profited. Harry's father and Remus Lupin liked to play advisers as well, and often earned a cut.

Harry had been thanked numerous times for being the one to introduce the twins to his family, and he couldn't deny the thrill of seeing some of his own work flying off the shelves. He was by no means a prankster, but he had grown up with the Marauders, so he didn't know any different in many ways.

Fred and George liked to pop over whenever they felt like it, and for some bizarre reason they'd often redecorate the house. It wasn't even because of a prank, but because Sirius got bored so easily. Harry had lost count of how many walls had been knocked through, or how many rooms had been switched completely.

Harry stepped into the drawing room and was immediately greeted by the fireplace roaring into life, the dancing flames creating long shadows over the soft carpet. The heavy, scarlet drapes were drawn closed, giving the room a somewhat cosy feel. The room had been declared off limits for Sirius and the twins' playful destruction, and Harry would be forever grateful for that.

Harry directed Katie to the plush sofa. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll have some red wine, if you have any."

Harry tore his gaze away from her and hurried over to the glass cabinet. He pulled out a wine glass and a tumbler, one of the many that Sirius had acquired over the years. He poured a generous amount of whiskey into the tumbler and quickly gulped it down, ignoring the fire that flared in his chest. It soothed his nerves, at the very least. He added a touch more, before pouring the wine halfway up Katie's glass.

"I have no idea where it's from, but it should be okay," Harry said, setting the glass of wine on the chestnut coffee table. He kept the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Katie took a tentative sip and liked her lips. "Tell me." She leant forward, grinning playfully. "How old are you in that portrait?"

Harry glanced over the back of the sofa, to the portrait, and ducked his head. Where the Black family tapestry had once covered the entire wall, it was now dominated by a portrait of Harry's family. Sirius Black stood proudly in the centre, a bright smile lighting up his eyes. Sitting upon his shoulders was a three year old Harry, his small hands covering Sirius's eyes. Harry would move his hands every now and then, and fall into silent giggles. James and Remus stood on either side, both smiling and rolling their eyes every so often.

"I was three," Harry said with a fond smile. He could barely remember that far back, but that day was stuck in his memories. It was hazy now, but still there.

Katie observed it with a grin. "It's not a normal portrait."

"It's not," Harry agreed. "Sirius wanted it to capture the moment, so it's on a loop."

"Oh."

A few moments of silence passed. Harry took another gulp of whiskey, swallowing it with barely a grimace.

"So, what now?" Katie asked innocently, her brown eyes fixed on Harry from under dark lashes. The hint of a desire in her tone didn't go unheard.

Harry placed his tumbler gently on the table and turned to his guest, still not believing for even a second that Katie had never done this before.

"I- uh-" Harry cleared his suddenly dry mouth. "Do you want to, err- why don't we just, you know-"

"No," Katie said, stopping Harry in his tracks.

"No?"

She shook her head of brown hair, letting it fall into place to frame her face. "No. You've got me all alone, Harry. I'd much rather we do what we should've done a long time ago."

Harry wasn't at all surprised when Katie leaned forward, nibbling on her bottom lip. Nor was he shocked when her lips brushed against his, and he didn't hang around on ceremony to reciprocate.

Katie increased the speed of the kiss, and she pinned him against the back of the sofa, pressing her small body against his. Her hands found his hair, gripping and tugging it.

As much as he'd felt off kilter for most of the night, he fell into Katie's rhythm, allowing her to dictate the pace. He'd never pined after her, but it felt like he'd waited an age for this to happen.

Harry's hands found Katie's hips, and she tugged impatiently at his shirt. He broke off the kiss momentarily to discard it. Katie unstrapped her heels and kicked them off within moments, and immediately sought out his lips again.

Harry's doubts that Katie wasn't a newcomer to this game were confirmed seconds later, after she'd managed to snake her way out of her dress, undo his belt, unzipped his jeans, and tug them from his waist to his ankles. The clothes were flung across the room.

It was the make or break point of the evening, as Sirius had once told him in great detail. Harry's situation wasn't quite at the point of no return, but he would be hard pressed to do something so monumentally stupid that he'd mess it up.

Harry's heart beat that little faster as Katie rid herself of the last of her clothing. He'd heard a number of horror stories of men in his position losing their composure, but Harry controlled himself, laughing in delight as he flipped Katie onto her back. Her giggles quickly died away, morphing into soft moans.

Harry's breathing turned heavier as the minutes ticked by. He wasn't sure how long had passed, but he felt the stirrings of something happening roughly an hour later. A fluttering feeling appeared in his stomach, like an agitated owl was furiously flapping its wings to free itself from its cage. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Slightly unnerved, he tried to forget about it, but for the life of him, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of utter hopelessness that settled in his gut. It reminded him of that feeling he got upon hearing someone had died.

Harry opened his eyes and tried to concentrate solely on the feeling. He tried to ignore the look of utmost pleasure on Katie's face, and the gasping moans coming from her lips. With her nose only inches from his own, it was slightly hard to overlook.

It was some form of magic, Harry knew, and the kind that should never be tampered with. He didn't have a clue how he knew, but he realised that danger was poking its malicious head around the door.

On top of everything else, Harry had to contend with the ensnaring scents assaulting his senses. The smell of sex, Katie's perfume, and wine and whiskey washed over him in waves. He was giddy on adrenaline and his prior lust, but his euphoria was diminishing by the second.

The room started to spin, and Harry's eyes lost focus. He watched, entranced, as the blurred portrait of his family smiled down at him, somehow sinister and eerie now. He heard himself, at three years old, laughing uncontrollably, but the sound far from comforted him. If anything, it managed to terrify him more than anything had ever been capable of doing before.

Harry gasped sharply as he heard his mum's screeching screams, loud enough to perforate his eardrums. He struggled underneath Katie, finding himself pinned on his back. He tried to kick out, but only his hips bucked wildly as he tried to free himself.

Katie let out a small gasp, her lips parting in an ecstasy Harry was no longer a part of. She gripped his arms tighter, holding him in place beneath her.

A blaring ringing started inside Harry's mind, creating a cacophony so loud he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't think straight, and he dug his fingers into Katie's hips. He only held on tighter – so tightly that it must have hurt her – as pure magic coursed through his veins. It stabbed at his heart and flared inside his lungs. He couldn't breathe, and he flinched with the pain, the likes of which he'd never experienced before.

His erratic, harsh gulps of air meant nothing to Katie, who cried out something indecipherable. Harry bit down hard on his tongue, piercing it instantly. He tasted the iron as his blood – warm, bitter and thick – gushed into his throat, suffocating him slowly.

"Harry," Katie mumbled as she continued to pick up the pace, her eyes clenched closed. A thin layer of sweat covered both of their bodies. Katie's hair fell onto his face as she bit her lip, her cries mixing with the awful, agonising screams of his mother.

Harry had no idea how his arousal was still piqued, yet he felt no pleasure. He couldn't concentrate on anything, as two decade-old giggles from when Harry was a toddler joined Katie's moans and his mother's screams, and suddenly there was another voice, and it was followed by two more. Sirius was bellowing Harry's name, and James was screaming for his son, and Remus was roaring.

"_Your death is nothing more than inevitable, Harry Potter. You will die by my hand, and my hand alone." _Lord Voldemort's high-pitched laughter surrounded Harry, hitting him from all angles at once, yet it was impossible.

"Voldemort is fucking dead," Harry growled out, and whether Katie heard him or not didn't matter – Harry could only see himself running. A memory washed over him, and he could feel his legs burning, begging for a respite, and his lungs suddenly felt like they were filled with water, and he could hear Bellatrix Lestrange's haunting laughter mocking him.

Katie had heard his shout, but hadn't made out the words. She mistook it for something else entirely, figuring he was nearly at the edge.

The magic flared again, seemingly coming from inside his very body and everywhere else at once, growing in intensity as the seconds ticked by. Harry realised he was powerless to stop it, and the terror inside him suddenly multiplied tenfold.

Katie's cries of delight joined in with the crowd that were already doing their best to deafen Harry.

Her ecstasy meant nothing to him. He could only keep his eyes clenched and hope that whatever was attacking him would pass. Fury was bubbling up inside of him, fury at buried memories forcing their way back to the forefront of his mind, fury at Voldemort and Bellatrix taunting him from the grave.

The screams intensified again as they only grew louder. Sirius's voice filled his head, and he could vaguely hear Katie shouting something. A pair of strong hands shook him, and he instantly knew they belonged to his godfather.

"Harry! What the fuck! Harry, come on!"

Harry tried to open his mouth to say something, _anything,_ but his tongue was blocking his throat and suffocating him, and nothing would come. He sprayed his own blood from his mouth as he tried to talk, but only a garbled sound came. He struggled as hard as he ever had, straining every muscle he had, but nothing would budge. Vibrations ran through his body, his blood felt like it was boiling him alive, and still the screaming only got louder. Harry could feel tears rolling down his cheeks as he heard his mother crying out, begging for his life to be spared.

Sirius was screaming helplessly at him, still shaking him furiously.

Then, for one brief moment, everything – the agonising pain, the terrible screams, the _laughter_ – was gone. Harry opened his eyes, and Sirius's grey eyes locked with his own, full of terror and one thing Harry had never seen there before – helplessness.

"Harry, what's happening?" Sirius demanded, gripping Harry's shoulders, and at first it was unclear what he was talking about. Harry felt as though his whole body was getting lighter.

The world started to shimmer. Harry's vision started turning dark, but Sirius held eye contact with him.

"Hang on, Harry," Sirius said, and the sob that died in his throat had Harry's eyes stinging even more. "You fight like you never have before, all right? Don't you fucking dare go anywhere! Don't you fucking dare!"

Then the world exploded.

Then, it simply stopped.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **Thanks once again goes to silentclock.

Let me know what you think.

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**Chapter One**

Harry was cold. It was the first thought that came to his mind. His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open. A bright light shone directly in his eyes, forcing him to squint at the vague shape looming over him. He tried to sit up, only for his head to start spinning, and two hands were immediately on his shoulders, steadying him.

"A few too many beers last night, was it, lad?" The man chuckled jovially. "We've all been there, let me tell you."

Harry tried to speak, if only to ask what the hell was going on, but only a mumble passed his dry lips. He opened his mouth a few times, the disgusting taste of his own saliva making him gag. He wondered just what he'd managed to get himself into, and when he tried to remember, he found he had no answer.

Harry's eyes finally adjusted to the light and his situation immediately became clear. He was completely naked on the doorstep of a Muggle home. He must have been drinking heavily. It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. The man who had woken him stood up and Harry studied him for a moment. He was old, with a grey moustache and kind hazel eyes. He was holding out a hand, which Harry took, and the man helped him to his feet.

"What happened?" Harry asked quickly, trying his hardest to keep calm. "Where am I?"

"You're currently on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive," the man replied, his amusement shining in his eyes.

Harry had never heard of the address before. The morning sun was peeking over the chimneys of a row of houses, which all looked like carbon copies of each other, all dull and generic. He was sure he'd never been here before.

"Your stag party last night, was it?" The man looked at him knowingly. "The same thing happened to me on my last night of freedom."

"A bit of a crazy night," Harry agreed, nodding his head in an exaggerating manner. The man seemed to be making up his own story about what happened, so Harry simply went along with it. He didn't know what else to do.

"Ah, I thought so," the man said, his eyes flickering to Harry's naked body.

Harry grinned a bit weakly, quickly covering up the last of his dignity the best he could. His eyes darted around the street; he didn't fancy the whole neighbourhood getting an eyeful if he could help it.

The man pulled on the strap of his red bag, which overflowed with letters. He was a postman, Harry knew. He'd seen them delivering mail around the square in Grimmauld Place.

The postman smiled toothily. "Never managed to make it to the other side of the door last night, huh?"

Harry swallowed the vile taste in his mouth. "My keys are with my clothes and seeing as I have no idea where my clothes are…"

The postman accepted the story without question. "Maybe you could help me out, then," he said, as if he wasn't speaking to a naked young man on the doorstep. His eyebrows furrowed. "I have this letter, you see. It's been puzzling me all morning. I don't know if it's a joke or not."

Harry rubbed the crust from his eyes and wondered what could possibly be so puzzling about a letter. "What seems to be the problem?"

The man pulled out a letter from his navy overcoat and waved it in Harry's face. "This is the little blighter. Just take a look at it."

The letter was covered in stamps, the only part left clear a small space on the front, where tiny letters made up the name and address. Harry stared at the family name. He was sure he recognized the name Dursley from somewhere. It was lingering in the back of his mind somewhere, just out of reach.

"I'll just let you go on inside, son," the postman said. "I'm behind schedule as it is. Good luck with the wedding!"

Harry watched the old man leave, before he turned back to the letter in his hand. He was completely baffled by the entire morning. It was certainly one of the oddest he'd had in a while.

A fit of giggles broke his thought process. He looked up at the sound and saw a girl in her late teens laughing into her hand.

"A bit cold this morning?"

Harry quickly covered himself again, scowling harshly at the girl. She walked away, sniggering to herself. Harry felt highly insulted, but by the time he'd thought up a worthy comeback she was too far away.

Taking another look around, Harry couldn't spot any of his belongings. His clothes were nowhere to be found, but most troubling of all was his wand. It was nowhere in sight. He felt even more naked without it, somehow. It must have been stolen from him, because there was simply no way he'd ever be so stupid and leave it anywhere.

The door of Number Four opened. Harry dashed to the side and dived into the overgrown rosebush underneath the window, wincing as sharp thorns dug into his exposed skin. His eyes watering heavily, Harry held his breath and listened. The front door closed with a click. The sound of at least two people walking across the tarmac gave way to the jangling of keys, and then three doors shut with force. Then the low rumble of an engine started and the car pulled away.

Harry waited a few minutes to make sure he wouldn't be found, before he crawled out from the bush, grimacing heavily as he stood up. His body was covered in little nicks and dirt, with small droplets of blood dripping all over him.

There was something strange going on with the house, Harry was sure of it. Some oddity surrounded the place. There had to be a reason he'd woken up on the doorstep, and he was determined to work it out. He peered in through the window and found no one inside the living room. He listened carefully for any signs of life, but the house stayed silent.

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. If he had his wand, he'd have no qualms about breaking in. The neighbourhood was starting to wake up, forcing Harry to make up his mind before he was seen by anyone else.

It was too risky to do it without a wand. Harry memorised his location, before he Disapparated away in a blur of magic. He made sure to land on the only patch of grass in the backyard of Number Twelve, but suddenly found blades of grass up his chest.

"What the fuck?" Harry exclaimed, immediately wading his way through the thick foliage. He could only think that Sirius had charmed the grass to grow, but he didn't have a single clue why he would do so.

Harry reached the back door and pushed it open, stopping in his tracks immediately. A spider's web, at least three metres wide, stretched from the pantry's ceiling to the wall. A thick layer of grime stuck to his bare feet, oozing between his toes.

"Sirius?" Harry called, keeping his voice as normal as he could. His skin was tingling wildly. "Padfoot! If this is another prank, I swear to Merlin-"

A loud pop cut him off mid-speech, and in front of Harry stood the dirtiest elf he'd ever seen. His ears were filled with thick tufts of white, stringy hair, and his bloodshot eyes glared menacingly in the dark.

Harry didn't waste a second in Disapparating away as fast as he could. House-elves were notoriously deviant creatures. It could have been ordered to kill Harry's whole family, or to spy on them, or even to dose them with Felix Felicis. Harry simply didn't want to hang around and find out.

The charms placed over Harry's childhood home washed over him as he Apparated to Godric's Hollow, instantly alerting him that something wasn't quite right. He'd become so used to them that he never usually noticed their presence anymore. The only reason he'd picked up on something being wrong was because the charms felt so weak. Not as though they'd been badly cast, but more like they'd degraded over time, which was a ridiculous idea.

Harry landed in his bedroom and simply stared. The lilac curtains were pulled back and hung limply, which allowed the morning sun to shine on a cream, dust-filled carpet. This room wasn't the bedroom Harry had grown up in. He'd certainly never had flowery patterns on his bedspread.

His nerves were on a knife edge and he used his average Occlumency in an attempt to keep his rising fear at bay. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Harry backed out of the room. The house had four bedrooms, but only three were ever used. One was the Master Bedroom, which was his father's. One was for guests, and the last room was where his mum, Lily Potter, had been murdered.

Harry entered his dad's room. The room looked like Harry remembered, but the musky odour was new, and the bed looked like it hadn't been slept in for years.

"Dad! You here?" He didn't expect to receive a reply, but it still shook him when there was no answer. He opened the wardrobe and took out a generic black robe, a pair of black trousers, a simple shirt and a pair of boots. He was sure his dad wouldn't mind him wearing them, at least not when he explained the bizarre situation. The jeans and boots fitted perfectly, but the shirt was a little too wide across the shoulders and the robe slightly too long.

The only other bedroom Harry was interested in was the room only a few select people were allowed to enter. The room that had been his when he was a baby. With his head bowed and his hand shaking, he opened the door and ignored the creaking hinges.

"This isn't fucking happening," Harry stated in disbelief at the destruction that greeted him. A broken cot lay on its side, and a number of stuffed animals were spread across the floor. The ceiling had caved in, leaving bricks and mortar all over the room. And there, in the middle of it all was a set of black robes.

Harry had never seen the destruction Voldemort had caused the night he'd attempted to kill his family, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was what he'd always imagined.

Harry toed the black robes warily and a wand rolled from beneath its folds. He stared at it with something akin to utter loathing. He knew the wand well. He'd seen it twirl and flick with mind-numbing skill. He'd seen it maim and kill. The wand was as white as its owner, made of yew and a single Phoenix feather. As soon as he picked it up, all doubts were gone from his mind. This wand belonged to Lord Voldemort.

"No!" Harry said sharply. He had snapped the wand straight after he'd killed its owner. He could remember it so clearly.

As much as he didn't want to use the wand, it was the only one Harry could find. He silently summoned any others in the house. One popped up from under the cot and another zoomed in through the door. Harry instantly recognised them both. The first wand belonged to his mother, and he saw the second wand every day in his father's hand.

James Potter's wand wasn't with its owner. The thought struck Harry sharply, and his mind connected the dots. There would only ever be one reason his dad wouldn't have his wand on him, and that would be if it was forcibly taken away.

Harry pocketed his parents' wands, bolted from the bedroom and tore down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He couldn't believe the scene that met him. The living room was chaotic, showing off scars from a messy fight. Dark patches of blood were sprayed across walls, which had deep gouges taken out of them. The coffee table was sliced cleanly in half, and the sofa showed signs of James's fighting style. Harry would recognize it anywhere.

His dad liked to use his skill for Transfiguration when he fought. The teeth and claw marks of deadly animals had torn the furniture to pieces. Harry had fought alongside his father before, once memorably against Voldemort. The Dark Lord had simply hexed the animals into insanity and ordered them to attack their creator.

Harry's jaw set and he breathed deeply. Whoever his dad had fought had either been highly skilled or unbelievably powerful, or both. Harry raised Voldemort's wand, the only one out of the three that was compatible. He was slightly disturbed by the thought of being more similar to Voldemort than his parents, but didn't let it get to him.

After a number of sweeps around the room, the only blood Harry found belonged to his dad. There didn't seem to be the slightest magical trace of another wizard or a witch. To completely block their presence indicated they were dangerous. Harry knew only a handful of people who could do it, but they were either dead or simply wouldn't attack his father.

Whoever had attacked had obviously worked on the whole house. Harry thought furiously and wondered if it might have been a group, although that didn't explain the complete lack of a magical trace. It had to be someone who had been in the house when his mum had been alive. They wouldn't have known what Harry's bedroom had used to look like otherwise. They were playing mind games with him, trying to force him to concentrate on things that didn't matter.

Harry sucked in a deep breath, his fury bubbling to the surface. He needed a plan of action. He spun on the spot and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place in search of Sirius. He landed at the back door, which was still open, and raised his wand. The house was far too quiet for his liking, and then the elf from before popped back into the pantry. Harry wasted no time at all and quickly sent a Stunning Spell at the creature. It took the red beam of light to its tiny chest and crumpled to the floor.

Harry's earlier thoughts of house-elves flashed across his mind. Maybe this elf belonged to the person who had kidnapped his dad, which also meant Sirius was in trouble. Harry raced into the kitchen, completely ignoring the disarray throughout the manor. It looked to be in a state of disrepair, but Harry wasn't fooled. It was simply more tricks being played on him, ones that he refused to fall for.

Sirius wasn't in the house. Harry had to admit the amount of magic that had gone in to creating the entire illusion was mind-boggling. He couldn't find any flaw that would make him see the real house, the one he lived in half the time.

Harry stormed out of the front door and sat down heavily on the top stair. His father and Sirius were gone. He needed to think, to come up with a plan. His family only really consisted of the four of them – James, Sirius, Remus, and himself. Two of them were gone, which meant it was likely Remus wouldn't be home either. Harry made a mental list, and the first order on his agenda was to check on the werewolf. If he was home, they'd work together.

Harry pulled out the letter the postman had given him barely half an hour ago, and his head was suddenly filled with all sorts of scenarios. He thought maybe he'd been kidnapped, Obliviated, and dropped off on a random Muggle street. It was a possibility.

The envelope was ripped open a second later, and Harry pulled out a piece of purple writing paper.

_Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,_

_We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron._

_As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place next Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. _

_I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the Cup for thirty years and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry to stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely onto the train back to school._

_It would be best for Harry to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is. _

_Hoping to see Harry soon,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Molly Weasley_

_P.S I do hope we've put enough stamps on._

Harry had to read through it three times before he really took in what the letter said. He was beyond confused and wondered if Molly Weasley was referring to another Harry. She had to be. There was simply no reason why the woman would write to the Muggle family about him, much less to take him to a World Cup Final. The Quidditch match was just another reason for his confusion.

The Quidditch World Cup Final had been held in the summer before Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts, which was just under a decade ago, not thirty years ago. On top of that, the World Cup had been last year, in Spain.

Making up his mind, Harry charmed himself invisible and Apparated back to the Dursley household.

The car had yet to return, so with a quick Unlocking Charm on the front door, Harry immediately slipped inside the house. He held his breath, slowly taking in the hallway. A few pictures hung on the wall, all of a family of three. A large man with a thick moustache, a son who was rapidly becoming as large as his father as he aged, and a bony-faced woman.

Harry took a quick look around downstairs, finding nothing of interest, before he made his way upstairs. It took him only a glance at the closed doors to decide which room to inspect first. He opened the door with the cat flap and locks and immediately knew the bedroom belonged to a wizard.

A large wooden trunk stood open at the bottom of the bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes and assorted spellbooks. Looking further around the small bedroom, he found an empty owl cage on the desk, which was also littered with rolls of parchment. On the floor beside the bed a book lay open. The Chudley Cannons were flying in and out of sight, passing a Quaffle between them.

Harry picked up one of the letters on the desk. It was addressed to Ron, who Harry knew well from their time at Hogwarts. It was signed by someone named Harry.

After some more searching, Harry pulled out a photo album from the trunk. He flipped it open and nearly dropped it when he saw the first few pictures. They were all of his mum and dad, ranging from their time at Hogwarts to their wedding.

"This just keeps getting weirder," Harry murmured, closing the album with a snap.

Further digging inside the trunk revealed a number of objects that all belonged to Harry. There was his invisibility cloak that his father had given him on his eleventh birthday, the Marauders Map that Fred and George had found in Filch's office, a Gringotts key, and then there was his wand. He was sure it was his wand. As soon as he picked it up he knew. Voldemort's wand and his own seemed to sing in his hands, filling him with a rush of euphoria that made him stagger to the bed.

It was only then Harry noticed the calendar hanging on the wall, with days marked off. According to the date, it was nineteen ninety-four. He stared at for a while, unsure what the message was supposed to convey. He had no idea what he'd done ten years ago to the date. He thought back to that time, and the only thing of note that came to mind was the Quidditch World Cup.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters had attacked in the middle of the night, while the partying was still going strong. It was the night the world learned of Voldemort's return.

Was there a Death Eater with a grudge? Perhaps someone had broken out or been released from Azkaban recently.

Harry made another mental note to check the _Daily Prophet_ and other media outlets for any news. If that failed, he'd have to do some digging and find out himself.

The doors to a car slammed shut, and Harry was immediately at the window, peering out at the family. The large man waddled to the front door, while his son and wife trailed behind him. They looked nothing like Death Eaters to Harry. He didn't know a single one of Voldemort's followers who could convincingly pull off being a Muggle, but he couldn't discount the idea straight out of hand.

Tip-toeing carefully out of the small bedroom, Harry waited at the top of the stairs and strained his ears. He could only hear bouts of inane conversation. He needed to hear what they were saying more clearly. For all he knew, they were using a charm to block out their real conversation.

Using a standard Hover Charm, Harry floated himself downstairs and peered into the living room. The obese son was sprawled out over the groaning sofa, a remote in his hand, his beady eyes fixed to the television.

The idea that the boy was a Death Eater was a bit far-fetched in Harry's eyes. He backed out of the room and looked through the gap in the door blocking sight of the kitchen. He tried to sense a charm in place, but found something extraordinary: a blood enchantment.

His eyebrows raised, Harry focused in on the magic, squinting as though the enchantment would reveal itself to him. It didn't, and he honestly didn't have a clue what to make of it.

"Have you seen the boy this morning, Pet?"

"No," the woman's snobby voice replied. "Shall I get him to prepare dinner?"

The man grumbled under his breath for a good thirty seconds before he spoke again. "I'll get him soon."

So there was someone else living in the house, Harry mused. He hadn't seen the boy, as he'd been referred to. Was it that Harry, the same one who'd signed his name on the letter to Ron?

_Homenum Revelio,_ Harry cast silently. It showed only three people inside the house.

"Vernon!" The woman's voice sent a shiver through Harry.

Harry heard a chair scape against tiles and the man grumbled again. "Bloody owls in my house. I've warned the boy, time and time again!"

"Well, go on," the woman said, sounding almost afraid. "Take it."

An envelope was ripped open and the man cleared his throat. "Dear Mr Potter, we are sorry to inform you…" The man chortled. "The boy's only gone and got himself expelled from _there_, Petunia!"

"No…" Petunia said breathlessly. "Does it say why?"

"He used his thingy, Pet," the man said, sounding both angry and delighted at the same time. "They say they're going to snap it in half!"

Harry felt a severe headache coming on. A letter from the Ministry of Magic had just been sent to him, telling him he was expelled.

_No_, Harry said to himself. It had to be someone else called Potter. It wasn't as though the name was unusual after all. _Most likely a Muggleborn,_ he assured himself.

Harry jumped a foot in the air as the doorbell rang twice. Petunia trotted out of the kitchen and he backed himself up against the wall as she passed him.

"Good afternoon, Petunia. I trust you have been well?"

Harry's jaw dropped at the sight of his former Headmaster.

"You!" Petunia hissed, pointing a thin finger in his direction.

"Yes, me," Dumbledore said, peering over the top of Petunia's head and straight at Harry. His eyes widened ever so slightly behind his half-moon glasses. Harry's heart did a flip. "Might I suggest you invite me inside?

"Come on, then," Petunia huffed, her lips set in a straight line. "This is about the letter, isn't it?"

Dumbledore was staring quizzically at Harry, as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "Indeed, Petunia. Could I possibly speak with Harry?"

Harry got the feeling it was only posed as a question out of politeness, and directed at him more than Petunia.

"He's upstairs," Petunia said, already halfway back to the kitchen. With her back turned, she said, "Be quick about it!"

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. He gazed at Harry meaningfully, before he started to walk up the stairs.

Harry stared after him for a moment, completely bewildered. There was simply no two ways about it. He needed answers and Dumbledore could possibly provide them.


End file.
